


The Past in Every Man

by neverminetohold



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Couch Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Romance, Secret Relationship, Slash, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3619143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theirs were old wounds, faded scars sunken deep below their skin, a past they lived and breathed. On their own before, but from now on, together...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Past in Every Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildAndFreeHearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildAndFreeHearts/gifts).



Cullen felt it when the mood shifted, and how could he not have?  
  
Reynard's hot breath had brushed his lips in encouraging moans between kisses. Now it came in quick and harsh pants, pupils blown wide for reasons far from arousal. Underneath Cullen's splayed fingers muscles had become hard lines, the body in his embrace suddenly rigid.  
  
Cullen let go and stepped back. Not without regret, but he was far too concerned to do anything other than give the mage room to regain his composure. "What's the matter? Are you all right?"  
  
Reynard simply shook his head and tipped it to rest against the cool wall. Eyes closed his breathing calmed, falling into a pattern Cullen recognized from meditative training exercises meant to hone a mage's focus.  
  
To not simply stand there and stare, Cullen started righting his plain off-duty clothes, although cooling spots of saliva on his skin and the constraint of fabric made wearing them anything but comfortable. He had been close, pulse still racing, overly eager like a youth, Reynard's grip firm and sure.  
  
And yet...  
  
Memories of Kirkwall reared their ugly head, of mages shying away from touch, cowed, how they moved after disappearing for half an hour, of harsh laughter and whispers, eyes hidden behind templar helmets, following them.  
  
There had never been any evidence to act upon, the Order a sworn community. And to his disgrace and shame, Cullen had then not cared one way or the other, when abuse was reported. It had taken him years to overcome the indiscriminate hate and disdain he had harbored for all mages after the events at Kinloch Hold.  
  
Still, even at his lowest point, the thought of forcing himself on someone unwilling had been, and would always be, repugnant to him.  
  
Of course that did not stop his mind from painting him a gruesome picture of what might have happened to Reynard, a younger and frightened version of him, still in his apprenticeship, stripped of his robes and held down. Perhaps threatened with the Rite of Tranquility or already bloodied, disabused of the notion that his noble birth would afford him any protection.  
  
No matter that he had stopped taking lyrium and done all within his power to distance himself from the Templar Order, to slip his Chantry leash, Cullen still felt responsible for the deeds of his former brothers and sisters in arms. That he could not help, did not want to, either. If change from within was impossible, perhaps he stood a chance from without, which was part of the reason he had joined the Inquisition.  
  
"I'm sor-"  
  
"Stop," Reynard growled, still fighting his demons but evidently no less astute for it. He had always read him so well, it had been disconcerting at times. "You did nothing wrong. This - this is all me."  
  
"Is there anything I can do?"  
  
"No."  
  
The answer came quick, with utter certainty, and stung all the more for it, like a slap to the face.  
  
Cullen took a calming breath, reminding himself that he too had snapped at Ser Greagoir, had rebuffed his well-meaning attempts to help, even though he had trusted his mentor implicitly. To say nothing about his family, who still knew none of what had transpired in both Circles he had served, except for information that was publicly known.  
  
Reynard's expression softened and with a weary shake of his head he added, "There is nothing to be done."  
  
This resigned kind of acceptance he was all too familiar with himself. It got easier, in a manner of speaking, but the damage was done and the scars would remain. Better to accept that fact than close ones eyes before it.  
  
Cullen nodded. "Except to endure, to learn and live with it, as best as one can."  
  
Saying it, he remembered games of chess and long hours of discussion, deep into sleepless nights. Also special blends of herbal tea, soothing whispers that had helped him find peace after nightmares, a favor he had returned quite often, and how they, two grown men, had tentatively inched their way towards being intimate.  
  
Puzzle pieces, that now fell into place to fit neatly, explaining that unspoken connection between them, one they had built upon, ever since their first meeting in Haven.  
  
Reynard's answer, when it came, was a belated: "Yes."  
  
A moment of silence settled between them. The fire guttered, shrinking to a few flames that danced along blackened logs. Outside snow drifted past the windows in endless flurries and piled up on the balconies, each flake illuminated to a silverite-shine by the full moon. Cullen focused on the sight, their downward spiral towards the deserted training grounds levels below the Inquisitor's tower quarters. He had to, because hot anger had begun to boil in his veins, replaced the initial shock with the wish to find whoever had dared lay a hand on Reynard and kill them. Slowly.  
  
He allowed himself to experience these destructive emotions, to revel in them even, if only to reach a state of mind beyond them, where he could distance himself and regain his self-control. Reynard would not appreciate cold-blooded murder committed in his name, nor was he a youth any longer, powerless and in need of protection. Many perished Venatori, demons and bandits could attest to that.  
  
"Leliana's paperwork is remarkably thorough," Reynard suddenly said and moved to sit on the couch. With a careless wave of his hand, he fed mana to the dying fire. "It took no longer than three hours to ascertain that those... templars died when Ostwick's circle fell."  
  
"Good," Cullen said, tone flat and even.  
  
Reynard held his gaze, then patted the cream-colored cushion to his left invitingly. "I appreciate the sentiment."  
  
"I wish I could offer you more." Cullen settled down, leaving a carefully measured gap between them, a statement and choice given. "Can you tell me what I did that --"  
  
"Had me freeze like a startled deer?" Reynard finished for him, tone wry but not completely bereft of humor. Instantly, the atmosphere in the room lost much of its dreary severity. "Being crowded against the wall, I think."  
  
"I told you the bed would be much more comfortable," Cullen said, and as he had hoped, Reynard chuckled.  
  
"So you did." Reynard swung his legs up on the couch. Tall as he was, his naked feet dangled over the armrest and he shifted lower, coming to rest half-way in Cullen's lap. "Let's keep that in mind for next time."  
  
"I will."  
  
Cullen shifted to accommodate his weight and had just begun to idly card his fingers through Reynard's ridiculously long hair, now loose instead of worn in a tight ponytail, when the brisk staccato of heels could be heard ascending the stairs.  
  
"Josephine?"  
  
"Yes. And the stomping right behind her would be Sera. One more prank gone horribly right, I dare say."  
  
Reynard moved to sit up, but Cullen would have none of that. No more hiding, skulking about in drafty corners or finding excuses for visits. It was stupid, not worthy of what they had found in one another, despite overwhelming odds. He pushed him back gently, and Reynard let him. His smile was wide enough to crease the scar that ran from his brow all the way down below his chin. He took a breath to say something but a firm knock rattled the door.  
  
"Come in!"  
  
"Inquisitor." Josephine's voice, risen like her temper, preceded her entrance. "Please pardon the intrusion at such a late hour but --" Finding the paperwork-strewn desk empty, she turned to the left and trailed off, taking in the sight of the Herald of Andraste and his military adviser, cuddling on the couch she had so painstakingly chosen in Val Royeaux. "Oh."  
  
Sera, naturally, had less compunctions to speak her mind: "Yes! That's a bet won fair and square! Look at you, like an old married couple. Good for ya." Her grin gained teeth, noting the state of Reynard's robe, and she made a lewd gesture. "Hope the sex was -"  
  
"Sera!"  
  
Josephine gave her a stern glare, but could not stop herself from imagining some scandalous... _things_ of her own. She also made a quick note on her trusted clipboard to check with Varric how much of the pot belonged to her.  
  
Reynard just laughed. "I resent the 'old' part."  
  
Cullen, cheeks slightly flushed but otherwise remarkably relaxed for a man who was still caressing another and also known among his men and friends to be somewhat of an introvert, nodded.  
  
"Agreed."  
  
"Not the rest though, huh?"  
  
Before Sera could say more, Reynard cut in: "Did you need anything?"  
  
"It can wait," Josephine decided and dug her fingers into Sera's arm, above her elbow, to steer her towards the exist. "I wish both of you a good night."  
  
"Yeah. It's all good. But no desk, so there's bed bugs, yeah? Wrong kind of biting in the hard bits."  
  
"Sera!"  
  
Cullen waited for the door to close behind them, then sighed in relief. One could never be too sure how Sera would react to any given situation. Josephine peeling them like ripe fruit out of the corner of her eye, all the while appearing prim and proper, had been somewhat of a surprise, though. Far easier to deal with someone brash and blunt than an accomplished player of the game.  
  
What a turn for the night to take, like being tossed in cold then hot water with no warning or respite. Later, perhaps tomorrow after a round of harsh and taxing training, he would need to take some time for himself, to come to terms with all this. By then, he would also know how people took the news, having no doubt they would spread like wildfire in Sera's wake.  
  
"Well, that was..."  
  
"Bracing?" Reynard suggested.  
  
Cullen looked down at him, tugging gently on strand of dark hair he had twined around his finger. "Not the word I would have chosen."  
  
"Perhaps, but I am grateful for the reminder. The Inquisition - it is not only a task or duty. You are all my people, my home." Reynard caught and held Cullen's gaze then, vibrant blue eyes a temptation to drown in. "The world at risk of ending aside, I have no regrets. My life is just as I like it. Right here. With you."  
  
"With you," Cullen echoed solemnly.  
  
Nothing more needed to be said, their shared silence comfortable and lasting until they moved to the bed. Walls built with bricks of their past might come between them, now and in the future, but they already possessed all the means to tear them down, and had proven the will to do so.  
  
  
[“ _The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love and to be greater than our suffering._ ” ~ Ben Okri]


End file.
